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<title>It Took About Two Minutes And Fifteen Seconds by imanerdybutch, Jeepgrrl</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409443">It Took About Two Minutes And Fifteen Seconds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/imanerdybutch/pseuds/imanerdybutch'>imanerdybutch</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeepgrrl/pseuds/Jeepgrrl'>Jeepgrrl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wynonna Earp (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Barmaid, Cannon compliant, F/F, First Meeting, Sheriff - Freeform, Sweet, thirsty lesbian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:34:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/imanerdybutch/pseuds/imanerdybutch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeepgrrl/pseuds/Jeepgrrl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicole Haught walks into Shorty's Saloon and meets Waverly Earp.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Jeepgrrl and I thought it would be fun to explore what Nicole and Waverly might have been thinking during their first encounter.</p><p>Chapter 1 is Nicole's POV. Chapter 2 is Waverly's POV.</p><p>Credit to the dialogue in S1:E2 Keep the Home Fires Burning.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I’ve just finished writing a ticket for a parking violation when I hear music coming from somewhere. It’s not loud, but loud enough that I can hear it over the low din of the wind rolling thru the lazy-small-town streets of Purgatory. I head back to my cruiser when I notice the front door to the local bar, Shorty’s Saloon, is cracked open. I should probably check it out; make sure nothing’s wrong.  After all, it is midday and from what I know of this town, most of the patrons that frequent the place are probably still sleeping off the fallout from last night’s binge, or whatever.</p><p>I slip thru the door quietly, just in case I’m interrupting something or someone that shouldn’t be in there. The place looks empty.  I haven’t been in here since I moved back to Purgatory, but then I guess a deputy sheriff shouldn’t really be frequenting these kinds of establishments anyway. And then I see her, Waverly Earp. She looks to be wrestling with a malfunctioning tap, and the tap is winning. She gets sprayed in the face by what I can only assume is cold beer. Poor thing, I should probably say something to let her know I’m here, but instead I find myself leaning against the inner doorway and unconsciously running my fingers around the brim of my department issued Stetson.</p><p>I hear her mutter to herself, “Perfect,” as she looks down at her drenched clothes and I instantly feel something for her. At first it’s empathy, but then there’s something else, something in my gut and maybe even a little lower that compels me to stay.</p><p>She still hasn’t discovered me standing here looking all cool so I decide I’d better say something. “I didn’t know Shorty’s had wet t-shirt competitions.” She’s startled by my voice but not scared startled, more like slightly embarrassed startled, and she tosses the wet rag in her hands down on the bartop. I chuckle and ask, “You okay?”</p><p>She smiles and reaches for a dry towel. “Yeah I…ah… just a bit jumpy. Had a…a crazy night,” she tells me as she busily pats at her wet clothes with the dry towel.</p><p>I’m taken by how pretty she is and I somehow manage to move down the step and slide my Stetson onto the bar without ever taking my eyes off of her. “Sorry I wasn’t here to see it,” I say and when she doesn’t reply I continue, “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself.” I extend my hand, such a patriarchal thing to do, I know. I chalk it up to working around men all day, not that there’s anything wrong with that. She does her best to dry her hand before accepting mine and as we touch, I feel a spark. I tell her, “I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught.” Her hand is soft and warm and still a little damp and I instantly don’t want to let go of it.</p><p>Our eyes lock and she does a cute little tilt of her head. Her eyes sparkle for a second as she flashes a warm smile and says, “Hi”, in such a small voice that I barely hear it.</p><p>With our eyes still locked and her soft hand still in mine I say, “And you are Waverly Earp.” Her name rolls around in my head like a soft warm breeze and I feel myself getting lost in her eyes. She drops my hand and nods a yes.</p><p>She looks away for an instant but then meets my gaze again. That smile and those eyes are about to end me<em>. Don’t get distracted.</em> I keep going, “Quite a popular girl around here.”  She doesn’t seem to wonder how I know her name. If she’d asked, I would have told her that I’d overheard my boss Sheriff Randy Nedley and his daughter, Chrissy Nedley, talking about her and her family back at the sheriff station, but it doesn’t seem to cross her mind.</p><p>Instead, in response, she bounces a cute little bounce, and does the cute little head tilt again, and says, “Oh you know, it’s all in the smile and wave,” while literally smiling and waving and that’s when I notice she has dimples too. <em>Could she be more adorable!</em></p><p>I think I hear a thud, but it’s just my heart falling out of my chest<em>.</em> There’s awkward silence. <em>Say something. Anything.</em></p><p>“Can I get a cappuccino to go?” <em>Smooth.</em> I hope she’ll think that’s why I’m still here. Instead of the real reason, that I simply cannot take my eyes off of her now.</p><p>She looks around apologetically. “Oh, I’m really sorry. We’re not actually open yet so…” she tells me. Seems she bought my slightly lame excuse for still being here.</p><p>I look around too in an attempt to go with my cover, “Oh right okay. My bad.”</p><p>She’s still trying to dry off as she bends down to get the little bit of beer that hit her leg and I get a spectacular view of her cleavage. Not that the outfit she’s wearing is leaving much to the imagination in the first place, those short-shorts and the lacy bra peeking thru the tank top, <em>I mean come on</em>. But she <em>is</em> the barmaid and this is an old school patriarchal-kind-of-a-town, so it’s not that unusual.</p><p>Then I say, “It’s just when I see something I like I don’t wanna wait.” <em>What the hell was that?! Quick say something else. </em>“And your door was open so…” It’s those eyes, they’re making me crazy.  I’m saying crazy shit now and the last thing I want to do is come on too strong, assuming that these feelings I’m having are going to get any traction.</p><p>She doesn’t seem to notice that either since she’s still trying to dry off. She says, “Right. Oh god I’m sopping wet.” It’s a damn good thing I know she’s talking about her clothes, or at least I think she is. Remarkably, my nervous giggle doesn’t give away the slightly inappropriate thoughts I’m having about her right now.  She continues, “You know I keep telling Shorty he needs to fix the darn taps.” <em>My god she’s even cute when she’s slightly irritated.</em> I’m trying to act professional, I <em>am</em> still on duty, but she’s not making this easy.</p><p>Then she says, “Sorry do you mind? I’m just gonna…” and she motions for me to cover my eyes so she can remove her tank top. <em>Dear god, what are you trying to do to me!</em></p><p>Of course I do the gentlewomanly thing and oblige her by turning around and facing away to give her privacy. This is the first moment I haven’t been looking at her since I walked in here and I find myself missing that smile and those eyes and that hair. <em>What are you doing? We’ve only just met. You don’t even know her! </em></p><p>It doesn’t matter because I’m only deprived of her for a second before she whispers, “Oh crap.”  Then calls out, “Um Officer I’m stuck.” She called me officer. I suddenly want to hear her say that again and again and in a much more intimate setting than this. <em>Stay focused!</em></p><p>I turn around to see her arms in the air, her top halfway off and tangled in her hair. Is it bad that I just want to wrap my arms around her and tell her it’s okay? I jump up and go to her on the other side of the bar. I say, “Oh here, let me help you with that.” Then I tell her, “I got you.” as I free her from the tangled mess and <em>accidentally</em> get a sniff of her coconut scented hair. My mouth waters but I maintain my composure.</p><p>Once she’s free she smiles and nervously says, “Oh god, good job you’re not some guy or this would be really… <em>really</em> awkward.” Her voice gets slightly higher pitched on the second really. I’m standing so close, close enough to feel the warmth from her and our eyes lock again as modesty clouds her mind and she covers herself up with the now freed tank top. We share an uncomfortable silence before she says, “Um, I owe you one.”</p><p>I want to tell her how good she smells and how cute she is but instead I decide to turn up the charm and take her up on the offer. “Alright, well then how about you buy me that cup of coffee, how about tonight?” I say, even though coffee is now the farthest thing from my mind. And if she says yes, then what?</p><p>She’s uneasy standing this close to me. She tells me, “Oh I can’t.”</p><p>I softly ask, “No?”</p><p>“No,” she says, still clutching her wet tank top to her chest like a safety blanket. “I mean I’d love to…like…like to but I have plans.” She’s clearly rattled. <em>Did I do that to you? Good, then I’d say we’re even. </em></p><p>She anxiously continues, “Yeah, I’m a planner, like to know what I’m doing at least two or three days in advance.” I just nod and slowly lick my lips, more out of nerves than anything else. She could be talking about anything right about now and I’d have no clue, I’m just lost in those eyes and that hair and that body. <em>Focus Damn It!</em></p><p>She stops and frowns and shakes her head like she’s telling herself to get to the point before aggressively blurting out, “I’m in a relationship with a boy…Man!” And now I’m shouting in my head, <em>even her frown is adorable!</em></p><p>There it is - the source of her uneasiness. She’s got a boyfriend and therefore couldn’t possibly be attracted to this tall drink of red haired-brown eyed-dimple wearing cop standing right in front of her. Not to sound conceited, but that’s how I’ve been described by a former girlfriend, so I’m going with it.</p><p>I decide to let her off the hook for now and acknowledge her by saying, “A boy man.” And as I pull myself away from her and walk back around the bar I tell her, “Yep, I’ve been there. It’s the worst.” We won’t talk about why I know that.</p><p>I give a shrug and grab for my Stetson. I can feel her eyes on me as I say, “Okay well, some other time,” and slap my business card on the bar, and yes my number is on that card. Subtle is my middle name. I give her one last flash of the dimpled smile as I slide my Stetson on and finally say, “I mean it,” before walking out.</p><p>My legs are trembling from the encounter. I get to my cruiser and jump in, taking shelter from the wind that has now picked up outside. I sit for a minute, thinking about what just happened and I find myself grinning from ear to ear because I know that won’t be the last conversation we’ll have, not if I have anything to say about. It took about two minutes and fifteen seconds Waverly Earp, but I’m smitten with you and I’m certain you felt something for me too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Waverly's POV written by Jeepgrrl.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ugh. Who parks like that?”</p><p>I know not to ask if this day could get any worse. The answer is yes. It’s always yes in Purgatory. But I can’t help but grumble at the haphazard parking job that is taking up two whole spaces.</p><p>“Ooh…I hope you get a ticket.”</p><p>Thank goodness the Jeep is easy to maneuver. The crunching sound of snow beneath my boots remind me of the snow-covered streets and suddenly I feel bad for wishing a ticket on this poor driver. <em>They probably couldn’t see the lines. </em>It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m safe inside Shorty’s and ready to get my mind off of last night.</p><p><em>What a crazy night.</em> </p><p>It’s hard, but, it’s a new day. I hang my coat and toss my Shorty’s top on the bar. It feels good not having to worry about wearing anything cumbersome at the moment. The room is warm and no one is due in for hours and I need this time to clear my head.</p><p>
  <em>And what better way to clear it than with some jams.</em>
</p><p>I walk over and punch in my favorite songs on the jukebox. I can’t help but do a little dance back to the bar. I pick up my dusting cloth and set to cleaning. In all actuality, it’s clean but I like giving it another once over before restocking the coolers. Finally, my jitters seem to settle and I can think clearer. <em>I’m alone. No revenants. No Wynonna. No Champ. Just me and the bar…</em></p><p>It’s at this moment I’m abruptly reminded, once again, of how I have asked Shorty to fix the taps. Beer is spraying all over me. <em>Why me? </em></p><p>I can literally feel myself fighting with the tap. I’m not winning.</p><p>“Perfect.”</p><p>I can’t begin to imagine what I look like. And before my mind can even conjure up an image, I’m surprised to hear a voice coming from the doorway.</p><p>“I didn’t know Shorty’s had wet t-shirt competitions.”</p><p>I feel more embarrassed than scared. I mean, it’s a Sheriff Deputy. A female Sheriff Deputy. What’s there to be afraid of.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Uh…yeah. I…ah…just a bit jumpy.”</p><p>I grab for a dry towel and can’t help but notice that she’s walking toward the bar. This must be the new deputy that Chrissy was talking about.</p><p>“Had a…”</p><p>
  <em>Wow! How do I describe last night and not sound like I’ve lost all my marbles?</em>
</p><p>“A crazy night.”</p><p>“Sorry I wasn’t here to see it.”</p><p>I keep my head down while cursing the cold, sticky beer that makes my tank top cling to me like a second skin. I’m trying really hard to put the irritation I feel toward those taps out of my mind. I’m sure I look ridiculous. But she doesn’t seem to mind and that makes me feel a little at ease.</p><p>Movement causes my eyes to lift and I see her reaching her hand toward me. <em>Who formally introduces themselves these days?</em> <em>Not many that’s for sure</em>. At any rate, I find the notion to be absolutely charming.</p><p>“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught.”</p><p>I dry my sticky hand the best I can. If it’s gross, she doesn’t let on. For some reason I was expecting her hand to be hard and callused like it’s some sort of prerequisite for police officers to have cold, chapped hands.  But it was surprisingly soft and warm.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“And you are Waverly Earp.”</p><p>There’s something about the way she smiles. I can’t quite put my finger on it as I give an extra squeeze to her hand. I’m not surprised she knows who I am. It’s a small town where everyone pretty much knows everyone. And her boss is my best friend’s dad. Surely, that’s where she has heard my name.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>My hand slapping the bar rings in my ears.</p><p>“Quite the popular girl around here.” There it is again. Something in her voice. Something in the way she is looking at me.</p><p>“Oh, you know, it’s all in the smile and wave.”</p><p><em>Smooth Earp…real smooth.</em> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Oh my God! That’s it. That look. That tone. She’s flirting with me. That’s the look. That’s what I couldn’t put my finger on. But why would she flirt with me. Everybody knows I’m with Champ. That I’m not into girls. I couldn’t be. I mean, she is beautiful, anyone with eyes can see that. But I’m not attracted to her. Am I? No. I’m not... What? A cappuccino to go? I try to explain that we’re not open.</p><p>I find myself looking anywhere but at her. Did I give off some kind of gay vibe without knowing it? Does she see something in me I’m not even aware of?</p><p>I take the opportunity to dry my leg as a thousand thoughts begin exploding inside my brain. And if there had been any doubt in my mind of her intentions, they would have been squashed by what she says next.</p><p>“It’s just, when I…ahh…when I see something I like, I don’t wanna wait.”</p><p>My mouth literally goes dry. <em>Brazen much?</em></p><p>Perhaps my reaction made her feel like she had crossed a line. How could she cross a line? I don’t have a line. Not for this. She’s quick to add something about the door being open. I must have done that in my rush to get in this morning, but who would know at the moment.</p><p>As if on cue, a breeze makes its way through the door and swirls around the bar and down to where I stand reminding me of the wet clothes I need to change.</p><p>“God, I’m sopping wet.”</p><p>She laughs and I know it’s what I said. Even my thoughts go there. I quickly try to get myself out of that danger zone. But that laugh. So warm and so respectful. No crude comment or inappropriate one liner. Just a genuine laugh that allows me to move along. And I do. Quickly.</p><p>“You know, I keep telling Shorty he needs to fix the darn taps.”</p><p>I ask if she minds turning while I change my shirt. She mimics my actions and obligingly turns around. I’m grateful but can’t help to sneak a glance to see if she is looking. She’s not so I hurry and, in my haste, …</p><p>“Oh crap. Umm…officer, I’m stuck.”</p><p>I look back again and I’m struck by the fact that she is still turned facing away. Such a gentlewomanly thing to do. I’m impressed. But, not enough to hide my embarrassment.</p><p>She walks around the bar quickly and helps release me from the confines of that stinky, wet shirt. I’m grateful she’s a she and not a male officer. And I tell her as much.</p><p>“Good job you’re not some guy right…or this would be really…really awkward…”</p><p>Did my voice really just go that high? There it is again. That undeniable look of “I like what I see” and I am suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m standing super close to her in only my bra and shorts. So close that I feel the heat radiating off of her body. It makes me nervous. She makes me nervous.</p><p>It’s instinct that I cover myself. I’m feeling over exposed and not just physically. I feel like she’s looking straight into my soul. That’s impossible. Right?</p><p><em>Did I just sigh that loud? What is happening? </em>I try my best to gain control of my nervous system that is currently short circuiting.</p><p> “Umm…I…I owe you one.”</p><p>“Alright, well, how bout you buy me that cup of coffee? How bout tonight?”</p><p>“Oh, I can’t.”</p><p> “No?”</p><p>“I mean I’d love to…like…like…like to…but, I have plans.”</p><p>
  <em>Love too. What? Yes! No! Why am I confused? Did she ask me out on a date?</em>
</p><p> “I’m a planner.”</p><p>I hear myself rambling on and on and yet she continues to stand there. Smiling at me like I have the sweetest voice in the world. I can hear myself. I know that’s not true. My voice grates against my ears, albeit an octave higher and I think I’m starting to sweat. I shake my head hoping to find some sort of clarity. But, then my mouth opens again…</p><p>“I’m in a relationship. With a boy…man.”</p><p>And there it is. I know the frustration shows on my face. Why did I even throw that out there? Okay…I know why. She needs to know. I need to make myself clear. No misunderstandings. And remind myself. My life is on course and I’m not jumping the track. Though it’s feeling like the track is starting to wind.</p><p>“A boy man.”</p><p>I watch as she turns and walks back to the bar. I can’t imagine what she must be thinking of me at this moment.</p><p>“Yep…I’ve been there.”</p><p>She moves with such confidence.</p><p>“It’s the worst.”</p><p>How would she know? Was she with a guy? I’m curious now.</p><p>“Ok…well…some other time.”</p><p>She places her card on top the bar and I can’t help but return her smile. It’s been a long time since I’ve been ‘properly’ flirted with and not groped and leered at. I think I kinda like it.  </p><p>“I mean it.”</p><p>There is something in her eyes and that cocky little grin that tells me she’s serious and not about to give up. Do I want her to give up? My mind is suddenly filled with unanswered questions and racing thoughts. The door closes all too soon and I reach for her card.</p><p>“Officer Haught…of course.”</p><p>There is no denying that. I can’t stop the blush that covers my cheeks or the smile that blooms across my face. Things have been changing so fast the last few days. I feel like my grip is slipping. But what if it slips? Wynonna’s back and as rocky as that has been, I love having her home. I definitely know how she feels about Champ. Maybe I would be better off single.  I read the card again. Is that butterflies?</p><p>“What are you feeling Waverly Earp?”</p><p>I tuck the card in my back pocket and pull on my Shorty’s shirt. I’m certain we’ll run into one another again. Maybe soon. And with that thought, there I go…smiling again.</p>
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